


Folch and Jones

by SiderumInCaelo



Category: Doctor Who (2005), El Ministerio del Tiempo (TV)
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Female Friendship, Gen, Translation Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 02:56:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14178996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiderumInCaelo/pseuds/SiderumInCaelo
Summary: After ensuring the Treaty of Ultrecht gets signed, Amelia Folch meets Martha Jones in a tavern.Takes place sometime post-Gridlock for Martha, and post-Tiempo de Esplendor for Amelia.  Also available in Spanish.





	Folch and Jones

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Folch y Jones](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14329491) by [brilliantfantasticgeronimo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brilliantfantasticgeronimo/pseuds/brilliantfantasticgeronimo), [SiderumInCaelo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiderumInCaelo/pseuds/SiderumInCaelo)



> Probably the most niche thing I have ever written. Thanks to @brilliantfantasticgeronimo for enabling me, looking this over, translating it, and giving me a title.
> 
> This assumes an understanding of EMDT, but the gist of the show is: Spain has a government division, called the Ministry of Time, that travels though time doors to make sure Spanish history doesn't change. Amelia leads one of their teams.

_Finally_ , Amelia thought.  The Treaty of Ultrecht was signed, the War of Succession was over, and her, Alonso, and Pacino were celebrating in a tavern before they went back to their own time period.  Technically it was against protocol, but they all needed to unwind. And if pressed, Amelia could say she was keeping an eye on the others involved in the signing, some of whom were also in the tavern, to make sure none of them tried to make new trouble.

Like that strange duo from the English delegation.

The man, who had given his name as John Smith but insisted on being called Doctor, wasn’t there, but his “companion” Martha (his wife? a family member? merely a devoted assistant?) was sitting alone at the bar.

They had never done anything troublesome – on the contrary, they had kept the deliberations from descending into chaos on more than one occasion – but something about them had seemed slightly _off_ , all the same.

Amelia looked around.  If it really was nothing, she didn’t want to draw attention, but Alonso and Pacino were busy playing a raucous game of darts, and everyone else was too drunk to be paying attention to much of anything, so she moved to sit down next to Martha.

“Relieved the treaty is finally signed?” she asked.

“God, yes.  Not least because it means I can stop listening to all those pompous men arguing,” Martha replied with a smile.  “You’re Amelia, right? Here with your brother Alonso?” she asked.

“Yes.”  With that cover, she’d been lucky to sit in on as many negotiations as she had, but she hadn’t been able to share her opinions, for fear of drawing attention to herself.  Martha, on the other hand, had interjected on several occasions, in perfect Spanish, and had been backed up by her partner.

It was one of the things that had drawn Amelia’s attention.

“So, what did you think of the diplomatic process?” Martha asked.

“Like you said, much of it was pompous men arguing.  But preferable to continued war.” _Or the alteration of history_ , she thought.

Then Amelia hears a faint buzzing noise.  Her hand flies to her pocket, thinking it’s her phone, and she prepares to make a hasty exit, but her phone is still.

The buzzing is coming from Martha.

Martha’s already getting up, but she’s not quick enough and Amelia grabs her wrist and yanks her back down.  “Who are you working with?” she hisses. “Lola? The Americans? The Russians?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about– ” Martha tried, but Amelia interrupts.

“That noise was your phone ringing; don’t play dumb.”  To prove her point, Amelia reaches inside Martha’s open jacket and pulls out the still-buzzing phone, which is an older model than Amelia’s. “ _Who are you working with_?” she repeats.

“I’m not working for any– wait.  How do you know what a phone is?”  Martha asks, staring at her with wide eyes.

“I’m a Ministry agent; I though that’d be obvious by now.”

“A Ministry agent?  What kind of ministry has access to technology from 300 years in the future?”

“The Ministry of Time?” Amelia says, half a statement and half a question.  “The people who try to stop people like you from changing Spanish history?” The game is up, but Martha just keeps staring at her.  “…You really don’t know about the Ministry of Time, do you?” asks Amelia, but she already knows the answer.  If Martha really was working for the Russians, or anyone else, they would have told her to be on the lookout for other time travellers. But if she’s not with a group, how did she get here?

“No, I really don’t.  I’ll admit I’m from the future – just as you are, apparently – but I’m not working with anyone.”

“What about that guy you’re with?  The one who goes by Doctor?” Amelia asks.

“We travel together, but neither of us is part of a larger group.  It was an accident we ended up here at all.”

“Then how did you get here?  You couldn’t have just _happened_ to find a door all on your own; you’re too well-prepared.”

“What do you mean, ‘find a door’?” Martha asks curiously.

“A time door?  Doors that take you from one year to another?” Amelia tries, but, once again, Martha just looks blank.  “How on earth did you get here, then?”

“The Doctor’s got – well, he calls it a ship, but from the outside it just looks like a phone box, and it can travel in time.  Also space,” Martha adds. “I’ve been to other planets.”

Amelia wonders if she’s been drugged again.  But no, everything else still makes sense. She remembers who she is, who Alonso and Pacino are, why she’s here.  It’s just this particular conversation that’s insane.

She forces herself to stay focused on what’s important.  “Did your friend build this ship himself?”

“No, he didn’t build it at all.  It’s – look, I’d say this sounds crazy, but clearly you already believe in time travel.  The Doctor’s not human; he’s an alien, and his people invented those ships,” Martha explains.

“And by ‘alien’ you mean from another planet, don’t you.” Amelia says, resisting the urge to rub her temples.  “Okay. Did _they_ send you?”

But Martha shakes her head.  “They’re all gone, now. The Doctor’s the only one left.  And like I said, we ended up here by accident. We just travel around, helping out where we can.”

Amelia probably shouldn’t believe her just on that.  She’s offered no proof, after all. But they had been helpful with the treaty, more than Amelia would have expected from people with the English delegation.

And surely if Martha was a spy, she’d have been given a more believable backstory.   _Aliens_ , really.

Still, best to probe a little more.  “Are there any more ships like yours?” 

Martha shakes her head.  “They went the same way as the Doctor’s species.”

“What happened to them?” Amelia asks.   _What could wipe out a species with that kind of technology_ , she wonders.

“A war,” Martha says sadly.  “I don’t know much about it. But there aren’t any others coming to muck up your history, if that’s what you’re worried about.

“Anyway, you said you traveled through doors?” Martha asks, clearly trying to steer the subject to safer grounds.  “How does that work?”

“I shouldn’t say.  State secrets and all.  Even _if_ I believe that you’re not working for someone, you’re still English.”

“Fair enough," Martha says, putting her hands up in mock surrender.  “But at least tell me one of your stories. What’s the coolest thing you’ve done?”

Well… surely answering that can’t hurt. 

“I convinced Cervantes to publish Don Quixote.”  Perhaps it’s not her most exciting mission, but it meant a lot to her.  Almost as much as flirting with Lope de Vega.

“Well, I met Shakespeare,” Martha retorts.

“So did I.”

“What, really?” Martha says, looking slightly put out.  “Please tell me he didn’t recite Sonnet 18 to you, too.”

“No,” Amelia admits.  “But I did help inspire Macbeth.  Maybe.”

They’re interrupted by Martha’s phone buzzing again.  “That’s probably the Doctor getting impatient,” she sighs.  “He’s not much for sticking around after the action’s finished.”

“I have to get going too,” Amelia says regretfully.  Even if she’s not entirely convinced Martha’s telling the truth, it’s been a fascinating conversation.

“Before I go, let me give you my number?” Martha says.  “It’ll work no matter where I am. In case you ever need back up, or just wanna swap some more stories.”

“I’d like that,” Amelia says, and hands over her phone so Martha can enter her contact information.

“I oughta get a phone like yours,” Martha mutters to herself as she does so, then hands the phone back.  “Until we cross paths again.”

“I certainly hope so.” Amelia says, and finds she means it.  

Still, she’d better tell Salvador about this when they get back, just to be safe. 


End file.
